


Fairy Tale Price

by midnightdiddle (gooseberry)



Category: Final Fantasy XII, xxxHoLic
Genre: Bargaining, Crossover, Fairy Tales, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-22
Updated: 2007-05-22
Packaged: 2019-01-31 04:43:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12674682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooseberry/pseuds/midnightdiddle
Summary: Larsa finds himself in a room of a style he's never before seen.  The floor is of some kind of straw, he thinks, bound and dried, laid flat beneath his feet, and the walls look particularly thin, sunlight and shadows spreading across.  He's not quite sure how, exactly, he's gotten here, for he'd been standing in one of the southern courtyards, discussing the northwestern border with Gabranth.Now, though, he's standing in a room he's never seen before, and there is a woman sprawled in front of him, ornate robes spreading out in every which way, spills of fabric and hair and jewelry, enough that Larsa has to question his own place in comparison to hers, and it's a most uncomfortable feeling.--Larsa has a wish, but wishes have prices.  Larsa, Yuuko, moment a la Gabranth.  Post-game spoilers.  No xxxHOLiC spoilers. A general knowledge of the basic idea of Yuuko's shop is helpful.  Namely, that Yuuko grants wishes for a price, with an emphasis on the price.  Equivalent exchange, what?





	Fairy Tale Price

Larsa finds himself in a room of a style he's never before seen. The floor is of some kind of straw, he thinks, bound and dried, laid flat beneath his feet, and the walls look particularly thin, sunlight and shadows spreading across. He's not quite sure how, exactly, he's gotten here, for he'd been standing in one of the southern courtyards, discussing the northwestern border with Gabranth.

Now, though, he's standing in a room he's never seen before, and there is a woman sprawled in front of him, ornate robes spreading out in every which way, spills of fabric and hair and jewelry, enough that Larsa has to question his own place in comparison to hers, and it's a most uncomfortable feeling.

"Sit," the woman says, flicking out one hand, impeccable nails that remind Larsa of a couerl. He hesitates, for he hasn't seen a chair, but then there's a cushion behind him, beautifully embroidered silk. After a moment he sits, keeping his head at a careful equal height of the sprawling woman, and tries to ignore her sharp smile.

"Lady," he begins, folding his hands carefully in his lap, but she interrupts him, a smooth voice that drags on the syllables.

"You have a wish and I grant wishes. Our meeting could be quite beneficial for both of us, and our respective--" she hums, flicks a finger, then, "'homes,' shall we say."

Larsa is no fool. He was raised upon fairy tales and court assassinations in the same breath, and trust takes a heavy price, and no words are empty of meaning. He counts his breaths, three, then asks, trying to pull the eagerness from his voice.

"By wishes, Lady, you mean..." He trails off, lets his voice rise in question, and watches her. The woman's smile widens, eyes catty, and Larsa lets himself blink slowly.

"Wishes, of course. A twisting of events to best suit a particular outcome, at the behest of one party."

"And what is given in return for one such wish?" Larsa asks, mind racing. If the woman isn't mad, if _Larsa_ isn't mad, and wishes are possible, then Archadia, Rozarria, _Ivalice_ \--

The woman's smile slowly fades, and she twists upon her pillows, long legs slipping bare and naked from her robes. "You," she says, "have quite an understanding for your age, don't you?"

"Everything has a price," Larsa says, "even in the fairy tales. What will yours be, Lady?"

"First," she says, and she's standing, long limbs and fabric that drapes from her arms, "you must have a wish. What shall your wish be?"

"I," Larsa begins, because it's there, upon the tip of his tongue, for Ivalice is there, upon the edge of his mind.

"What," the woman interrupts, and she's kneeling in front of him, cloth sliding over his body, her long fingers curling near his face, "happened at the end of the fairy tale?"

"What?" he asks, confused, and the woman's hands are warm and dry upon his skin.

"Does the princess find her husband? Does the emperor regain his throne?"

"Always," Larsa says, and the woman's eyes are cold, and her mouth is small.

"And are they happy?" the woman asks, a strange look in her eyes. "Is the world happy?"

"Never," Larsa says, and a wish is a very powerful thing indeed. "I want," he says, and the woman's smile is brittle.

"The price is a heavy one," she says, and Larsa's shoulders are thin, but Larsa will do anything for Ivalice.

x

"My Lord," Gabranth says, and Larsa sees a million deaths. Larsa closes his eyes, bites back a groan, and Gabranth's gauntlets are cold upon his skin.

"My Lord, are you well?" Gabranth asks, and Larsa sees a half-dozen Gabranths, Basch and Noah and more between, fighting and laughing and dying, blood upon their faces.

"I," Larsa begins to say, but he cannot, for there are too many words in his mind, crowding up, drowning him out with their screams, like the screams of the faces in his head, the faces and the faces and the _faces_. He thinks of Archadia, sees the future spread out like a web before him, too many threads knotted together, and he thinks, _Yes_.

"I," he says, and there is already blood in his mouth, upon his lips, but a life is a little price to pay for Archadia, "am fine, Gabranth."


End file.
